


credo ut intelligam

by viciousvices



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousvices/pseuds/viciousvices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The choice Levi must make is maddeningly clear, as much as he despises it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	credo ut intelligam

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for this chapter: emetophobia.

A sharp thump by his head jolts him from sleep, startling the hens around him into a squawking frenzy. Levi grimaces, blinking awake in the dark and stretching as much as the cramped covered wagon allows him.

“How are ye’ faring back there?”

Levi picks straw out of his hair and mutters. “Fuckin’ wonderfully.” There’s no point. He’s already covered in chicken shit. At least he’s gotten used to the smell, which he considers a showing of God’s mercy. Moonlight filters in through the thin wooden boards on either side of him. Sweat sticks his shirt collar to his neck.

The farmer, a stout man with an untidy beard, gives a hearty laugh from the other side of the wagon bed’s wall. “Sun set a few miles back. I can see the town’s lights just up ahead. Shan’t be too long now.” He announces, and Levi offers a quiet thanks before shooing a few birds out of his way to crawl to the back of the wagon, where he pushes the small, creaky door open to look outside.

The fresh air is cold and sweet, and the chickens cluck indignantly at the sudden breeze. He doesn't recognize his surroundings, unsurprising considering the fact that he's never travelled this far east before.

He had just come from a harsh northern winter, seeking the seaside as the colder season began to wane and the sun warmed the earth again. He considers working his way south next if the mood strikes. He’s never sure what’s next for him, but he doesn’t like to look back.

The stars are bright overhead.

\--

Levi gets dropped off just outside of the village, aching to stretch his legs. He gives the farmer a handful of shillings – the rest of the payment due for the ride – and wraps his cloak securely around his neck. The walk through unfamiliar land livens him up, the crisp night air turning the tip of his nose pink.

 _Shiganshina,_ the wooden sign declares. One of the most outermost towns on the coast, large with a larger port; a popular stop for His Royal Majesty’s navy on their way back from the Caribbean seas. Men flock to places like this to try their luck at fishing. None of that means anything to Levi, the ocean holds nothing for him. He simply considers it a new town with new opportunities.

He follows the lights and sounds through the darkened, narrow streets. Even in the dead of night, such towns are always alive when there is money to be spent and ale to be drunk. He is tired, but not tired enough yet to seek an inn; it would not be his first time forgoing a night’s sleep to save the bit of money he had left. He figures he has the day to seek out a blacksmith looking for help, or a tanner in need of a pair of hands. He hopes for a bakery this time, but he never has any luck with those.

Mostly because he steals from them.

The noise of boisterous men over lively mandolas draws him to a pub, brightly lit and inviting. Levi does his best to scrape the mud and caked dirt off his boots against the cobblestone before walking up to the painted door.

Once inside, the sudden heat and overwhelming smell of sweat and alcohol stuns him for a moment, his eyes watering against the heavy tobacco smoke. There are people scattered about, sitting on the stairs and standing around tables, filthy men spilling beer all over the floor and sticking their dirty coins into the barmaid’s cleavage.

Levi wrinkles his nose.

He sits in an empty chair at the far end of a long table, keeping his hood over his face and satchels in his lap. He doesn’t trust anyone, least of all a room full of scoundrels and drunks. There is a rowdy group at the other end of the table, half a dozen men looking considerably cleaner than anyone else he sees. He keeps to himself and they pay him no mind.

But the shouting around him grows deafening. The laughter, thundering. The music playing is off-key and shrill to his ears. He digs his fingernails into his palms, coughing when smoke is blown in his direction. The longer he sits, the more he itches for a bath.

When the barmaid finally walks past him, Levi gets her attention and orders a pint. “And keep it coming.” He adds. 

He unsheathes a small knife from his belt and starts paring an apple from his pack. It’s bruised from the his travels and perhaps more ripe than would be preferred, but he doesn’t mind. Levi has long since learned to make do with what he has, as what he has is very little.

The son of a brothel wench, the bastard of a merchant passing through town. Nothing to inherit, not even a last name. A street-wise beggar at age five, an expert pickpocket by age seven, a veritable conman by twelve. As a young man he traveled up and down the country, never staying in one place for too long and picking up various skills of trade along the way. As small in stature as he is, Levi is strong and smarter than he lets on. He knows these skills are all he has; he knows they keep him alive. And the fact that he can lift a coin purse from a man’s breast pocket in near silence does not hurt much, either.

He sips his drink and crunches through the apple, and another, and half a loaf of bread that’s grown hard from the journey. It’s not much, enough to soothe the cramp in his stomach but not enough to lull him into sleep. It’s still hours to go until sunrise and though the tavern is crowded and the company raucous, he knows it’s a safer bet to stay indoors than to chance being out alone in a strange town. He puts his feet up on the wooden table in front of him and sighs, leaning back, eyes falling shut.

“Hey, mate.”

Over the noise of the bar, Levi hears one especially nasally voice, loud and off to the side of him. He sneers at it, still not opening his eyes.

“Mate. Hey, do you mind _not_ having your boots all over the table? Some of us are trying to eat.”

Levi’s mouth twitches.

“Mate—”

“Auruo, forget it, he’s not listening—” A second voice chimes in.

“—He’s not in our way, just leave him be—” A third interrupts.

“Mate.” ‘ _Auruo’_ continues, to the collective dismay of the others. “You ignoring me?”

 Levi clears his throat, as if to speak, but doesn’t.

He hears a scraping sound, like a chair being pushed across the floor, followed by the thud of footsteps approaching. He feels the presence of a body hovering above him, and hears a less-than-friendly slam of a hand on the tabletop.

“Hey.” Auruo says again. “It’s _impolite_ to ignore a _high ranking_ naval officer _—_ ”

The rest of the men at the table burst into laughter, and Levi is tempted to join them. He cracks an eye open, ever so slightly.

“—Especially when you’re a drunk who smells like _chicken shit—”_

Levi moves swiftly, cloak falling open as his arm flies upwards and straight down, his knife landing solidly into the back of the man’s hand.

The next events happen in such quick succession that Levi almost misses them.

Following his ungodly shrieking, the man’s friends rise, cutlasses drawn. Of course, once a weapon is unsheathed in a tavern, every weapon is suddenly unsheathed, and one man’s fight becomes every man’s fight.

Levi takes his knife back, relishing in Auruo’s anguished squeal, and yields a second in his other hand. He doesn’t get a good look at the men coming at him, being mindful of their swords instead. He’s quick with a dagger, but it’s still nothing compared to cutlasses.

In the end, it’s all for naught, as a man easily twice his size steps into his line of vision, grabs him by the collar, and introduces his fist solidly into Levi’s face.

He doesn’t remember hitting the floor. Later, he recalls seeing the moon again, the sharp smell of seawater, and warm hands on his face before everything goes black once more.

\--

Levi hears birds. He clenches his eyes against the bright light shining against his eyelids—the sun?—and lifts his arms to his face, groaning at the soreness in his muscles and the dryness in his throat. He pulls himself up to a sitting position and forces his eyes open. He is immediately on guard.

The cot he’s on is hard and he doesn’t recognize the small room he’s in. There’s a small window in the corner, letting in sunlight and fresh, salty air. Everything is clean and well-painted. There are wooden cabinets lining the walls, a desk in the corner, a table beside him covered in bloody bandages and a tin cup of clear water. Was that from him? Was he bleeding? He eyes the cup cautiously, giving it a sniff before taking a drink. It tastes fine but roils in his stomach.

As he struggles to his feet, he reaches for his knife and finds it’s not there. He doesn’t find the second one, either. He realizes belatedly that his cloak, jacket, and bags are gone, and his boots are set on the floor. What’s more, he feels a dull ache across his cheekbone, and finds the left side of his face sensitive, a little swollen, and hot to the touch. His nose doesn’t feel broken, but he doesn’t have to see it to know it’s bruised.

He tries to scowl, but it hurts to do so. He settles for an irritated grunt.

Levi stumbles on the way to pick up his boots, knocking into the table, then against the cot, and finally falls hard onto his backside. “Fuck,” He grits his teeth. Why does the floor feel like it’s moving under his feet?

The noise must have alerted someone, as there’s suddenly a rattling at the door before it swings open. Levi stands as quickly as his sore body allows, fists up and growling wearily. “Oy!” He croaks at the tall man who peeks in on him.

“You’re certainly a scrappy one, aren’t you?” He says, amused. His accent is crisp, the kind that Levi’s only ever heard on schoolteachers. With his sandy hair in a mess over his face, he is nowhere near as proper as one.

“Oy,” Levi repeats louder, recognition dawning on his face. “I remember you from last night. Friends with that unmuzzled lout who can’t keep his mouth shut.” He gestures at his own face. “You did this to me, didn’t you?”

He raises both hands in casual surrender. “In all fairness, you _stabbed_ him. I daresay I let you off easy.”

“Where’ve you taken me? Where the fuck am I?” Levi’s stomach lurches again and he covers his mouth with both hands. “What’ve you given me to make me sick, you massive, toad-spotted—”

The smirk on the man’s face grows to a smile. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t know what happened.” He nods knowingly. Levi decides to hate him immediately. “Well, follow me, I expect the Commander will want to see you.”

“Who? What?” Levi backs up, knocking into the cot again. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, you’re barking.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.” He opens the door. 

“No.” Levi says firmly. He doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t know where he is, and his effects are nowhere to be found. For all he knows, he’s about to be thrown in prison. He isn’t quite sure why yet, but he’s sure it’s got to be something he can’t dispute. Levi hadn’t really ever lived on the right side of the law.

The man takes a step towards him, and Levi takes a step back. “Last chance to come peacefully.”

“Yeah, you’re all about peace, ain’t you?” Levi spits bitterly.

“Just trying to be fair here.” With a fair amount of ease, he grabs Levi around the waist and throws him over his shoulder.

Levi makes as big of a fuss as he can manage, kicking and punching, digging his feet into any vulnerable muscle and grabbing through the fabric of the man’s clothing to scratch at his skin. His voice cracks as he shouts, using every foul word he can think of as the man hefts him around. “Someone call the Commander.” He yells over Levi’s colourful cursing before he drops him onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

No, it’s not the ground. It’s a wooden deck, painted a deep blue. He looks up at great white sails.

Levi is on a massive ship.

The commotion he’s caused draws the attention of the crew on deck, turning to stare and murmur amongst themselves. When Levi stands, he frantically looks in every which way until he spots land. It’s far, far in the distance, and they’re steadily sailing away from it. The ship lurches and he feels ill once more, but this time, he doesn’t stop himself from spilling the contents of his stomach all over the deck.

“I just mopped there!” Someone cries indignantly.

“Then you’ll just have to mop it again, won’t you?” Levi says, daintily wiping at his mouth with his sleeve before vomiting again.

He hears a chuckle just above him, and a deep, unfamiliar voice. “If you’re done...”

He doesn’t bother to look up, knowing he’s about to be sick once more. “Fuck off,” He manages to slur between heaves. His eyes burn and he twists his head away from the mess he’s made, rolling onto his side and clutching his stomach.

“That’s fine. I’ll wait.” The voice says patiently.

A pair of dark leather boots appear before him. He follows them up to thick thighs, a broad chest, wide shoulders, and a scruffy blond beard. Levi has to squint against the morning sunlight to see any higher than that, and is met with blue eyes clearer than the sky above. It’s a stupid thought and Levi scowls bitterly at himself for thinking it.

It only gets worse when the man above him flashes him a smile.

“You’ve got—” He points at his nose.

Levi reaches for his own nose and feels a dull sense of horror when he finds his runny vomit has been leaking from it.

“ _Thank_ you.” He spits, his throat raw.

“Mind yourselves, the lot of you! Back to work!” Someone else barks, and there is a shuffling of boots on wood as the crew scurries back to their stations.

The taller man, the one who had carried Levi, crouches behind him and gets a solid grip on his collar. “Do you want him out here, Commander? Or should I bring him back to your cabin?”

“Out here’s fine, Mr. Zacharias.” The Commander says. “He certainly needs the fresh air.”

‘ _Commander?’_ Levi eyes him wearily. “Are you going to kill me?” He rasps.

“Are you a pirate?” He asks smoothly.

“Stupid question.” Levi says, weakly trying to wrench himself from Mr. Zacharias’s hand.

The Commander chuckles, it’s deep and hearty and Levi wants to spew again. “Yes, it was stupid, wasn’t it?”

Levi wants to ask who they are and where they’re taking him, but he finds himself biting his tongue. This is not somewhere he can escape or fight his way out of. He can not win on this ship. The Commander peers down at him curiously. “You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble, you know.” With that, he lowers himself to the ground to kneel a scant few inches from Levi’s pile of sick. He leans over it and it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. “You’ve injured my Gunner.”

“That twat from the tavern?” Levi almost smiles. So he wasn’t a ‘naval officer’ after all.

The Commander frowns disapprovingly. “He is my ship’s Gunner. And now he’s indisposed, as it were. Being without a Gunner is completely unacceptable for a vessel of this calibre, performing in the manner that it does. In short, you’ve stolen work from me, Mr…” He trails off, prompting Levi to give him his name. When he doesn’t, Mr. Zacharias persuasively shakes it out of him.

“Levi.” He grunts.

“Mr. Levi.” The Commander continues. “I assume you’ve figured out that this is, in fact, not a pirate ship.”

Levi hadn’t, but he was glad to know of that now. Perhaps they were merchants?

“I also assume that you’re a man of good moral standing. Someone who chooses to do what’s right under the law of the King. Someone who understands reason. Would you say that I’m correct in these assumptions, Mr. Levi?” As he speaks, he looks directly into Levi’s eyes, and Levi’s barely thinking enough to be able to nod.

“I’m glad.” Though he sounds genuine, he doesn’t smile again. Levi purses his lips. “So, let’s make a fair deal.” When Levi remains silent, he carries on. “I am now short one crewman. You are an able-bodied young man aboard my ship. We happen to be two weeks away from the next port. What’s say you work in Mr. Bossard’s place until his hand is all healed up, and we drop you off at… Hange?” He raises his voice, addressing someone a ways away from him.

Hange turns around sharply, as if waiting to be called, spectacles glinting in the sunlight. “Ehrmich next, Commander.” They reply brightly.

“Ehrmich, then.” He says to Levi. “The next port is Ehrmich. How’s that sound to you?”

Levi continues to glare up at the Commander, aggressive in his passivity. Slowly, he moves up into a sitting position, with Mr. Zacharias’s firm hold telling him to mind his actions. Sweat slicks his hair down over his forehead.

“I’m afraid I don’t have all day to await your answer.” The Commander raises his eyebrows.

Levi sniffs. “What kind of fucking ship is this?”

Erwin’s mouth twitches like he wants to grin again. “This is a privateer ship, and the only vessel of it's kind in the seven seas that is directly and wholly sanctioned by the Royal Navy. We are not a crew of scoundrels, debtors, or convicts. We are employed by the King and that is where our allegiance lies.” He speaks plainly, neither patronizing nor threatening. He looks Levi in the eyes, as if searching for understanding. “Should you choose to decline, do I need to tell you what the alternative is?”

He doesn’t. Levi knows what will happen to him. He’s seen what happens to those who get on the wrong side of the Royal Guard; locked up for indeterminable lengths of time, or off to the gallows if the crime was fitting.

He stabbed the Gunner of a Royal Ship.

The choice Levi must make is maddeningly clear, as much as he despises it.

The Commander opens his mouth to speak again, but Levi interrupts. “Fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Fine?”

Levi takes a shuddering breath. “Yes. Fine.”

“Then we have an accord.” He extends his hand. Levi looks at it with contempt, though it looks clean enough. He shakes it firmly and the Commander’s hand dwarfs his.

Mr. Zacharias lets go of his collar and helps him to his feet by grabbing him under the armpits and hoisting him into the air. “Smart man.” He says.

“Fetch the doctor, have Mr. Levi looked at.” The Commander instructs as he rises to his feet, and a crewman rushes off to do so. “Someone will show you to your bed in the sleeping quarters. That’s where your things are.”

“Tch.” Levi scoffs. “Expected me to say yes and join your merry crew of men?”

Amused, the Commander shakes his head. “I expected you not to say no and spend a fortnight in the brig. That’s below deck, you know. Not an ideal situation for someone with such a delicate stomach.”

He doesn’t want to prove him right by vomiting again, so he swallows the bile in his throat and grimaces against the burn.

“Mr. Zacharias will escort you back to the sickbay. Then expect Mr. Darlett to show you around the rigging.” The Commander turns to leave.

“Rigging?” Levi glances up at the intricate system of ropes and pulleys. “I thought I was—”

“—As you’ve made it so that Mr. Bossard is no longer able to responsibly nor safely do his assigned duties on my ship, we’ll have to replace him with someone qualified. In turn, that crewman’s former station will have to be filled by someone else, and so on.” The Commander pauses and turns to him. “You’ll be picking up the loose ends.”

“I won’t lie to you, mate.” Mr. Zacharias claps his large hand over Levi’s shoulder, steering him back to the room he woke up in. “You’re a little old to be a cabin boy. But you’ll learn quickly, all the same. And we’ll get along fine.”

Levi looks back over his shoulder, finding that the Commander is watching him, as well.

“Not with him, I won’t.” He mutters absently.

Mr. Zacharias barks a laugh. “You’ll entrust and pledge your life to Captain Erwin Smith the way we all have, that is a promise.” He opens the door for Levi and waits until he’s settling down on the cot before taking his leave.

“Welcome aboard the _Ruthless,_ Mr. Levi.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope the thought of beardwin makes up for the lack of historical accuracy. talk to me about pirates on [tumblr](http://eruriv.tumblr.com).


End file.
